


The Day Before

by SherlocksSister



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Background Relationships, Backstory, Brotherly Affection, Coincidences, Conspiracy, First Meetings, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loneliness, Love at First Sight, MI5 - Freeform, Military John, Mycroft's Meddling, PTSD John, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sociopathic Sherlock, Texting, Tiny Hint of Mystrade, email, not so fluffy anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocksSister/pseuds/SherlocksSister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft: "What do we say about coincidences, Sherlock?"<br/>Sherlock: "The universe is rarely so lazy".</p><p>What were Sherlock and John doing the day before they met? Was it really a fortunate coincidence that John's old friend was sitting on that park bench as he passed? On the very day Sherlock Holmes was looking for a flatmate?</p><p>Told from a variety of perspectives, in a variety of ways, starting with Molly and ending with Sherlock, who is very Sherlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Molly - Diary Entry for the 24th July 2010

JULY 2010

**Saturday 24 th**

Good day today. Work is going well and everyone there is very nice, on the whole. I spent most of the day on the autopsy of a man who had died of an overdose. It makes me sad to see what some people can do to themselves. He was only 22, but had done such damage – his kidneys and heart blown wide open, not to mention his brain. I know in training Dr. Stamford was all “think of the disease, not the person” but sometimes it’s just not that easy, especially when they’re that young.

Dr. Stamford was knocking about the lab today. He’s very quiet when he’s there, just getting on with his own analysis and mostly today he spent the day using the haemocytometer but it still gives me the heeby-geebies, like he’s looking over my shoulder, testing me. He had a visitor today though. He didn’t introduce us, but he was there ages.

No word from Jonathon I met in the pub last week. He said he’d call -bit soon yet maybe? He was nice. Ish.

I must remember to ring Mum tomorrow, remind her that I’m working. Don’t want her to waste a dinner on me when I can’t come. I should pick up something to eat after work. A proper dinner, I’m sick of sandwiches.

One sad thing is that poor Dave from Maintenance has died. He was nice. I’d better call Sherlock when I’m finished writing this, I promised I would the next time I had a new male over 50 come in. Shame it has to be Dave though, God knows what Sherlock will want to do to him. As long as he doesn’t take the Bunsen burner to him - I couldn’t get that stink out of my morgue for ages.

I really have got to stop ringing him. I’m going to get into such trouble one these days. It’s not like it makes any difference, he barely even notices I’m there, just orders me around and makes me feel stupid. And then, sometimes, I just catch him looking at me. Oh, I don’t know, if it wasn’t for that hair and the suits! I mean, who wears a suit to an autopsy anyway??? I wonder if he might be wearing his jeans on a Sunday, casual dress for the weekend?

Maybe I should just ask Sherlock out. I mean, this is the new Millennium, there’s no reason why I can’t ask him out myself, I’m an educated career woman, he’d be lucky for me to ask! I’m getting a bit fed up of him giving me meaningful smiles and looks one day and just ignoring me the next, at least I would know one way or another. Maybe I will just ask him out if he comes in tomorrow. I’ll invite him to dinner! No, that might be a bit much. Lunch maybe? What if he doesn’t call over until the afternoon though? Ok, just coffee. Yes. Coffee.

Shit. No, I've changed my mind. He might say something cruel.

Or, he might not.

Must remember to put on some lipstick in the morning.

I’d better go and ring him.


	2. Chapter 2 - Mrs Hudson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Hudson is worried about Sherlock as things take a bad turn. She's there to help, as are Lestrade and Mycroft, but is it enough? 
> 
> "The Inspector was half carrying Sherlock who looked shocking. He was pale and hadn’t shaven in days. His beautiful suit was all crumpled and dirty but the worst thing though was his eyes. Oh, Lizzie you should have seen them!"

24/7/2010            12.27

Sender:                   [marthasuttonh@gmail.com](mailto:marthasuttonh@gmail.com)

To:                         [esuttonwaverly38@hotmail.co.uk](mailto:esuttonwaverly38@hotmail.co.uk)

 

Hello Lizzie,

I’m so sorry it took me a while to reply to your last email but things have been a bit all over the place here lately. How is Ted? I hope his angina is improving, and Alison and her pair of monkeys? Did Ollie get that tooth through yet?

I do envy you those grandkids sometimes you know. Of course, after what happened to me in Florida all those years ago it was never going to be a possibility, but there you go. I doubt I would have been a very good mother anyway. I never had the _lifestyle_ to raise children, now did I?

How is your own knee? My hip has been giving me terrible trouble the last week. I even had to use two of my soothers on Thursday! Of course, it’s not been helped by all the traipsing up and down the stairs to Flat B. I tell you Lizzie, Sherlock has my heart broken!

I thought he was improving. Do you remember how I was telling you about those murders he solved? The ones over in Highgate with the ceremonial dagger? Did you see it in the papers, with the costumes and the safe? Honestly, the things that go on behind the doors in this city! And Sherlock was so proud of himself, we even had a celebratory scone together. But he hasn’t had any new cases since then and, poor dear, he gets so bored. Did I tell you he shot my wall once? Said he was conducting experiments in ballistics, but really I know he was just bored. He gets terribly bored, and I think he’s a bit lonely too, bless him, up there. I hear him talking sometimes, to himself.

Anyway, as I said, he has my heart broken. He went out last Sunday and there was no sign of him for 2 days. I just thought he was working on a case but when he still wasn’t back by Wednesday morning, I started to worry. So I phoned that nice policeman, the Detective Inspector I was telling you about, although he asked me to call him Greg. He had insisted a while ago that I call him if Sherlock went missing. I knew Sherlock would be cross with me, but I was so worried!

Anyway, they all arrived back late Wednesday night, two police cars and 5 policemen. The Inspector was half carrying Sherlock who looked shocking. He was pale and hadn’t shaven in days. His beautiful suit was all crumpled and dirty but the worst thing though was his eyes. Oh, Lizzie you should have seen them! Sherlock has the most beautiful eyes, all greeny-blue but that night it was like he couldn’t see me at all when I opened the door and his eyes were positively black.

Of course, he had been at his old tricks again. I thought after everything he and I went through with Frank he’d be able to give them up but no, and it upsets me greatly to see him like that. The Inspector brought him up to his flat and asked me to make tea and find something for Sherlock to eat. He seemed very cross, but I didn’t like to ask too many questions. I spent the next 2 hours going up and down the stairs trying to find something to tempt Sherlock’s appetite but he just lay on the sofa, curled up into a ball, ignoring us. Greg stayed with him all night, wasn’t that kind?

The next morning, I was just opening the front door to take in the milk and Sherlock’s brother was standing on the doorstep, about the knock. He gave me such a fright!. As soon as he came in, Greg came down and they had a very long conversation in my hallway. Of course, I was trying not to listen but then Sherlock’s brother knocked on my door. His name is Mycroft (Have you ever met a Mycroft? Their mother has a lot to answer for, saddling the poor boys with such ridiculous names). He’s a bit of an odd fish but very fond of Sherlock. He asked me to keep an eye on Sherlock for him for a day or two and let him know if there was any change. He offered me money but, of course, I refused. I’m happy to look after the poor boy after everything he did for me.

After they had left, I popped up to bring him some tea and Lizzie, you should have seen him, sat there in his chair holding his head in his hands. I tried to open the curtains, just to let a bit of air in, but he shouted at me so I left them. His kitchen is a terrible mess, all broken glass everywhere and his microscope was even on its side. I tidied it up of course, best as I could, and he just sat in his chair and stared at this horrible skull he keeps on the mantelpiece. I tried to talk to him, but all he said the whole time was “bloody Mycroft! Whatever that was about?

Yesterday, I went up to see did he want some lunch and he was wrapped in about 3 blankets, shaking and sweating. I thought about calling a doctor, but who makes house calls these days? I knew Sherlock wouldn’t go and see anyone. I suppose it’s just the withdrawal anyway, from the drugs, I’ve seen enough of that in my time and I shouldn’t really feel sorry for him, but he just looked so small and alone, sitting in that dark room.

He’s a bit better today. He asked me for some soup, so I’m popping out now for some shopping, see can I tempt him with my leek and potato. Mycroft said he would call round again today too so I might go up and have a bit of a tidy around.

I will be up to visit you soon. I think I might leave it a couple of weeks, if that’s alright with you, just until things settle down a bit here.

Love, Martha.


	3. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot darker than the last 2 and there are mentions of warfare, violence and briefly, alcohol abuse, in case any of these may be a trigger for you. 
> 
> "Just focus on the breath, John, he told himself, over and over again. Just keep breathing. He pushed away the voice that kept whispering “Why?”.

Fire opened without warning, bullets ricocheting between the tall, yellow stone buildings. The sniper was aiming randomly at the unit on the street, who were trying to take cover between the tightly knit houses. They had been completely exposed, this had been a humanitarian sortie, an effort to assess the local population after of the three days of airborne conflict, whether they had water, food and what injuries had been sustained.

John had just walked through what had used to be the door of a bombed-out house, searching for any survivors. The noise was horrendous, the shots and then the screams of men and women as bullets seared through them, rapidly followed by retaliating shots. The smell of rotting corpses had already been thick in the hot air, hanging in the humidity so you could taste it on the back of your tongue. John retreated into the doorway as he turned to face the street and assess the situation. Three of his unit lay on the ground close by, two face down but one was facing him, still alive, eyes open. John locked eyes with the man, willing him to understand that John was on his way, help was coming. Then, John was thrown to the ground himself by the force that hit his left shoulder and as he fell, all he could hear was the screaming.

When he opened his eyes, John was lying face down on a beige carpet. He could still hear the screaming but realised it was coming from his own mouth. It was dark and there was sweat pouring into his eyes, stinging and mixing with tears, making it hard to see. Angrily, John wiped his eyes and forced himself to look around. Not Afghanistan, he reminded himself again, but a bedsit in Highgate, a dingy, one room bedsit, with beige walls and a grubby beige carpet and he was on his knees, on the floor next to the single bed. His breathing was still coming in shallow rasps, and as John sat back on his heels he made a huge effort to take a complete breath. At least he was alone, he thought, at least no–one else had witnessed the overwhelmingness of the flashback and its resultant panic attack. He dreaded these unbidden attacks happening when he was in public. At last here he was safe. Sort of.

As he continued to calm himself, John slowly levered his way back onto the bed. He sat for a long time, staring at the empty fireplace in front of him and practiced the mindful breathing Ella had taught him. Just focus on the breath, John, he told himself, over and over again. Just keep breathing. He pushed away the voice that kept whispering “Why?” in his ear. He ignored it, he put it in an imaginary red balloon and cut it free, floating up through the ceiling, but it kept coming back.

Suddenly he was gripped by the urgent need to get way from this dreadful room, to escape his own thoughts and that voice. He grabbed his black jacket, his damn walking cane and headed out into the dark. The streets of London are never properly quiet, or fully dark. Cabs and buses keep running into the small hours and there are small, overstocked shops on every second residential road with their harsh fluorescent light pouring into the street. There are people too, coming home late from a night out or just as likely going to work early. The Tube runs under your feet and the train stations are always open. John walked and walked, ignoring the ache in his leg, or maybe because of it. He left the suburbs behind as he got closer to the heart of the city, heading for the bars and clubs of Oxford Circus and Carnaby Street. He watched the well-dressed young men and women leaving the clubs, locked together in tight little groups, roaring at their shared jokes, linking arms and tottering down the street together. He was invisible to them, a middle aged man with a limp. There were also plenty of lost souls huddled under makeshift cardboard shelters and in sleeping bags in doorways. They ignored him too.

As he walked, John would occasionally check over his shoulder, haunted by the feeling that there were eyes on him. He knew this was all in his head, a profound paranoia, Ella said, almost inevitable. Knowing this didn’t make it any more comfortable though, didn’t ease the sensation that there was someone just about to lean in and make a grab for him.

John walked until he was exhausted. Several times he considered walking into one of the 24 hour convenience shops and buying a litre bottle of whiskey, but he had tried that and it didn’t help. Quite the contrary, it made the flashbacks more vivid and harder to escape, rather than providing the oblivion he so craved.

For the third night in a row, the exhausted John Watson hailed a cab and went back to the dingy bedsit he still refused to think of as home after five months there. Now he would be able to sleep, maybe a few hours of peace as his exhausted mind and body might not dream or at least he might not be able to remember it on waking.

As he peeled off his sweat stained tracksuit and climbed into the narrow bed, John hoped that tomorrow would be better. That there would be something to live for, or at least, a respite from this nightmare.


	4. Anderson and Donovan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a stationary cupboard in New Scotland Yard. 
> 
> “Lestrade! Ever since we picked up The Freak in that doss house a couple of weeks ago, he’s been, dunno, distracted?”
> 
> “God, how can you bring up that arrogant pain in the arse while you are doing that to me with your hand? D’ya fancy him or something?”

“Shhhh!”

“Don’t worry, no one saw me come in”.

“Yeah, that’s what you think. This _is_ a police station. Some of the people here are even detectives”.

“None of them care. Anyway, what if they did see us. Would that be so bad?”

“Err. Yeah, a bit. For me anyway. It’s alright for you, you can go off to your own office, I have to sit here with the rest of them”.

“You took your time, I was beginning to think about leaving, didn’t think you were coming”

“Yeah, sorry. I was in with Lestrade, couldn’t exactly turn round and say ‘Oi boss, can I go now?, I’m meeting Andeson in the cleaning cupboard’, could I?”

“What were you talking to Lest… Mmmmmmm”.

“Do you like that? Come here. I want to ……. Ahhhhhh”

“Shhhhh!”

“I can’t help it! You’re driving me nuts!”

“Of course I am. What were you in with Lestrade for?”

“He wanted to talk to me about the reports I did on those suicides. Had some questions. Seems to think there might be more to them.”

“Yeah, he said something to me too … ahhh Oh Sally! Yeah, just there. Jesus you are a……”

“Have you noticed he’s been in a bit of a funny mood lately?”

“What? Who?”

“Lestrade! Ever since we picked up The Freak in that doss house a couple of weeks ago, he’s been, dunno, distracted?”

“God, how can you bring up that arrogant pain in the arse while you are doing that to me with your hand? D’ya fancy him or something?”

“Fuck off. That psycho, what do you take me for? Na, it’s just The Boss I’m worried about. Not been himself. He’s missing things and there was that bloke who came to see him yesterday. The one with the suit and poncey umbrella. They had a row and I was sure I heard one of them mention the Freak’s name. Just wondering what he’s done now. I really don’t get why we have to put up with him… hmmmmm. Yeah, there, no down a bit, ah yeeees, Philip!”

“Could we stop talking about them now? It’s putting me off a bit”.

“Yeah,……. Jesus!”

“Shhh!”

“Sorry. Can’t help it”

“You know she’s gone now don’t you. To her Mum’s. For the whole week”.

“Yeah. I know. And?”

“Well, tonight. You could come over. Hmmmmmm. We could do this properly”

“I’ll think about it. Just. Stop. Talking and ……”

“Fuck! Oh Sally, I’m……”

“Me toooooo”


	5. Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade has been brought into someone else's plans. Despite his reluctance, he appreciates that desperate times call for desperate measures.
> 
> "And Stamford is not being asked to do anything too awful. Just sit on a particular park bench and introduce one person he knows to another person he knows.I have asked others to do far worse"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tried to create this chapter a number of times using text message screens online but they just kept deleting themselves! Apologies for resorting to old fashioned text. Bold are Lestrade, Italics are from Mycroft

 

_9.36am_

Is everything in place?

 

**Yes. I met him at the hospital**

**yesterday and went over it again**

 

Good. And the consequences

if he doesn’t comply?

**He understands. I showed him the**

**kerb crawling charge sheet**

**I’m still not happy about this**

 

You made yourself perfectly clear on that yesterday

**We all make mistakes**

 

Indeed. And would you like your

superiors to know about your own,

shall we say, indiscretions?

**Are you threatening me now?**

 

 

Quite the contrary, I hold you in the

highest regard. I am merely trying to

explain why Stamford is motivated

to help us.

And Stamford is not being asked to do

anything too awful.

Just sit on a particular park bench

and introduce one person he knows

to another person he knows.

I have asked others to do far worse

**I bet you have. This has to work.**

**I cannot drag Sherlock out of a shithole**

**like that again**

 

Agreed. It’s killing him.

Or rather, he’s killing himself bit by bit.

**And you are sure this chap**

**is the answer?**

 

I have done extensive research as you know.

All the findings indicate that Watson

will be compelled to take care of my brother.

It defines him.

**Yeah, you said. But when my men**

**were tracking him, he didn’t seem**

**much better than Sherlock. All that**

**wandering around at night**

 

Exactly. He needs Sherlock

 as much as Sherlock needs him.

**Well I suppose we have to**

**try something. If he ever finds**

**out what we have done though**

 

Yes. He will never forgive us.

I am afraid that is a risk I feel I must take

**I will just tell him you forced me to do it**

 

Please destroy the phone and

SIM card when this conversation is concluded

**That was a joke**

 

I am very grateful for the many kindnesses

you have shown my little brother over the last five years.

 

 

Consider me in your debt.

Should you require my services, do not hesitate to ask

**I am sure I will think of something**


	6. Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Mycroft and start to see the threads of the day before being drawn together and to understand why he is meddling on such a gargantuan scale.
> 
> "But this was not Mycroft’s greatest risk. He knew what would happen should Sherlock discover his meddling on such a major scale. Having involved Inspector Lestrade, one of the few people Sherlock actually trusted, was a betrayal that gave even Mycroft a pinch of conscience"

Pulling up his high-backed black leather chair and sitting into the only remaining pool of light in the office, Mycroft Holmes sighed deeply, vainly trying to release some of the tension that sat in his chest. Finding creative solutions to difficult and sensitive problems was what he did best, yet in this case, his careful preparations did not seem to be quite enough. He was convinced he had missed something and could not quite identify what it was, but there remained a niggle at the back of his head pushing his blood pressure up. He had already broken one of his own cardinal rules and eaten not one but two of his favourite Maison Dandoy almond biscuits.

Of course there was one element in this particular plan that was utterly unpredictable; Sherlock. Throughout the past 20 years Mycroft had veered from amused indifference at Sherlock’s antics to panicky alarm at the more life-threatening choices. Sadly, the latter had become more and more common in recent months with Sherlock taking totally unnecessary risks and indulging in self-destructive behaviour. Mycroft had responded with veiled threats, more direct pleading and greater surveillance, all of which only seemed to have the effect of making things worse. Mycroft had been at his wits end when a standard MI5 file had crossed his desk and a spark of an idea had come to him. Tomorrow would see that plan put into action and he sincerely hoped it would work.

The risk to himself was great but he had accepted that. The misappropriation of military intelligence, deployment of security agents, engaging the Met to provide suitable information for blackmail of a civilian, even at his level this could all lead to a fall from grace if discovered. But this was not Mycroft’s greatest risk. He knew what would happen should Sherlock discover his meddling on such a major scale. Having involved Inspector Lestrade, one of the few people Sherlock actually trusted, was a betrayal that gave even Mycroft a pinch of conscience. Sherlock would simply cut him out of his life altogether, forever. Probably leave London and go as far away as possible. Mycroft would never see or hear from him again. Yet he had felt the need to take this risk. Having watched the surveillance tapes from 221b Baker Street over the last 6 months, the number of nights Sherlock never returned home had increased. The times he came home clearly high had increased. Most alarmingly, the times he had sat square on to the surveillance cameras in full view and injected himself had also increased. As far as Mycroft was concerned, Sherlock was only weeks away from killing himself. At least if he did find out and fled London he would still be alive.

Mycroft put his face in his hands at the thought. The plan depended on Sherlock actually engaging with this Watson, something that he was not renowned for being good at. However, Mycroft had faith in Dr. Watson, all their reconnaissance indicated that he would be unable to resist being drawn into the danger and drama that was Sherlock’s life. He pulled the file towards him and yet gain read the three pages it contained:-

 

**Her Majesty’s Armed Forces**

**Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers**

**Official Discharge Papers of Captain Doctor John Hamish Watson**

Date of Birth:                    8/9/1971

Age on Discharge:            39 years 1 month

Date of Signing up:           3/4/1996.

Discharge Date:                10/1/2010

Discharge Notes:              Honourable Discharge, Injured.

Military Record:                1996 – 1999 Northern Ireland

                                        1999 – 2001 Sierra Leone

                                         2001 – 2010 Afghanistan (3 tours)

** Awards: **

Distinguished Service Order – 2008

Conspicuous Gallantry Cross – 2006

Queen’s Commendation for Bravery - 1999

OSM Sierra Leone - 2001

OSM Afghanistan 2010

** Observations **

Captain John Watson has served as an exemplary solider and doctor. He received a life-threatening injury in service on 5/6/2009, having been shot at close range to the left shoulder. He has spent the subsequent time in medical facilities and has made a full physical recovery. Diagnosed with PTSD, he is receiving on-going treatment and has impaired mobility.

He is a quiet man with great patience, courage, empathy and is an excellent leader of men. The Distinguished Service Order was awarded for his role in working with a team of 3 other medical staff in saving the lives of 27 military and civilian casualties whilst under air bombardment. Special mention was made of Captain Doctor Watson’s returning to the field hospital to carry a civilian child to safety after being separated from their family.

Suitable for reconnaissance, field medicine and intelligence work. Experienced in weapons and hand to hand combat. Contacts in Surrey and at St. Bart’s Hospital, London

Signed: Major James Sholto

__________________

London Metropolitan Police

New Scotland Yard

** WARRANT OF ARREST – FELONY **

 

NAME:                                 Stamford, Michael, Dr.

ADDRESS:                            27, Devon Avenue, Whitechapel, London

ARREST DATE:                    18TH October 2009

ARRESTING OFFICER:           Sgt. David Wilkes, VICE

CASE NO:                            2378564

REASON FOR ARREST:         Seeking to engage the services of prostitute on Whitechapel Lane, London

ARRESTED AT:                    Whitechapel Lane

TIME OF ARREST:               00:43 18/10/09

ARRIVED STATION:             1:09 18/10/09

Signed: Sargent David Wilkes

__________________

** Psychological Assessment of  **

** William Sherlock Scott Holmes **

** Summary **

Requested by D.I. Gregory Lestrade, Metropolitan Police, New Scotland Yard

 

Following his arrest for possession of Class A substances, Mr. Holmes, who prefers to go by Sherlock, was referred to me by my colleague DI Lestrade in advance of preparing charges.

Mr Holmes is a highly intelligent man in his mid-30s, in moderate physical health, in keeping with the regular use of both cocaine and morphine. Mr Holmes informed me early on in our interview that he is a “high-functioning sociopath”. I enquired where this diagnosis originated from and he stated “my last visit to Dr. Blake in Harley Street. I wasn’t brought back again”. This occurred when Mr Holmes was aged 16.

We discussed Mr. Holmes’ reasons for his drug use. His responses were;

  * Boredom
  * They help me think
  * To help me sleep when affected by insomnia (specifically in reference to morphine)



We discussed the insomnia which comes in regular bouts, averaging twice a month and peaking at 4 consecutive nights without sleep, at which point Mr Holmes will self-medicate with morphine.

We explored the cause of his boredom. On the surface, this is a reaction to Mr Holmes’ very high IQ and the need to entertain himself. However, on further investigation, I discovered that Mr Holmes lives alone and often spends considerable periods of time alone and without human contact. I would consider this to be the result of an anti-social personality disorder. Mr Holmes stated he had spent three weeks recently without talking to another person. I tried to explore how that made him feel.

> _“At times I relish the peace and quiet from the stupidity of the majority of people. However, it can become tedious”_

I inquired whether Mr. Holmes ever felt lonely. He gave this considerable thought, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. His response was a muted agreement. I believe this was a difficult acknowledgement for him to make and possibly a conclusion only reached when I asked. I pushed further with “has anyone asked you that before”, to which he responded “No”.

I asked Mr Holmes to consider what alternatives there were for drug use in aiding his thinking, expressing my professional opinion that drug use often has quite the opposite effect. He outlined the unusual nature of his work to me and I inquired who he discusses his deductions and conclusions with. He was a little started at the idea that they might be discussed and I suggested that talking them through with another person may help him to think. His response was to merely sigh and roll his eyes at me.

I engaged Mr. Holmes in a number of further tests for the autistic spectrum. I do not believe that he is on the spectrum as he is well able to make and sustain eye contact, was well able to engage fully with me and whilst he knows a considerable amount on many topics, did not display a fixation with any particular idea or activity. He demonstrated no self-soothing behaviour during our interview but was clearly agitated by the activity, clearly stating as much and labelling a number of questions as “Boring”. However, I conclude that much of this is a deflection behaviour as it only occurred when I probed his feelings and particularly when I asked Mr. Holmes if he had ever experienced any suicidal thoughts or feelings, a question he did not answer but which led to a moment of reflection.

We discussed his limited interpersonal relationships, exploring those with his parents and brother. When I asked about friends, he stated “I have no friends”. I also inquired about his sexual activity and as far as I can conclude, Mr. Holmes has always been and remains sexually inactive.

To conclude, I believe that Sherlock Holmes is not sociopathic, as previously labelled, nor, as stated autistic, but does display many signs of antisocial personality disorder, particularly in the Million’s sub-types of risk-taking and reputation defending. However, in relation to the specific request made in relation to Mr. Holmes’ substance abuse, I conclude that he uses illegal substances as a way to avoid negative feelings including loneliness, lack of self-worth and sexual frustration and believe that increased social interaction on a regular basis would be of great benefit. In short, what Mr. Holmes needs most is a friend.

Dr. E. Thompson

____________________

 

A friend, considered Mycroft. My greatest challenge is to find Sherlock a friend. He had brought the might of both his intellect and the British Government to bear on the subject and all he could do now was hope and wait for the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not even a little bit qualified as a psychiatrist. Everything here I learned from Wikipedia so apologise in advance for any errors, offense is not intended. The military awards John has won are all real as are the biscuits of which Mycroft is so fond. He buys them in Harrods.


	7. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before he met John, did Sherlock have any inkling of how his life would be about to change?
> 
> "As the room finally began to darken, Sherlock felt relieved; another day over. Lying on the sofa in his pyjama bottoms, T-Shirt and dressing gown, he hadn’t moved from this spot in hours. Mrs. Hudson had been in at some point and left a cup of tea next to him on the table but it was now stone cold. He must have been in his Mind Palace when she had popped in. It didn’t really matter, she made terrible tea and he would probably not have drunk it even if he had been aware of its existence."

As the room finally began to darken, Sherlock felt relieved; another day over. Lying on the sofa in his pyjama bottoms, T-Shirt and dressing gown, he hadn’t moved from this spot in hours. Mrs. Hudson had been in at some point and left a cup of tea next to him on the table but it was now stone cold. He must have been in his Mind Palace when she had popped in. It didn’t really matter, she made terrible tea and he would probably not have drunk it even if he had been aware of its existence.

He wondered what had brought him back to this reality and considered his surroundings for a moment before realising he needed the toilet and was getting very cold. Struggling to sit up, Sherlock decided he probably wouldn’t bother getting dressed but that eating something might be a good idea. If only he had something to eat in the house. Never mind, Mrs Hudson would find him something, she was only too happy to feed him.

He checked his phone but there had been no calls, no messages. The one diversion he had found all day was hacking into the member’s database of the National Union of Journalists and setting up a webmail group so that he could text them all. He had been giving considerable thought to the latest string of apparent suicides and had developed a number of theories today, some of which he might share with Lestrade tomorrow. In the meantime, he would entertain himself in the morning by disrupting Donovan’s Press Announcement. He grinned to himself, he knew it was childish but she deserved it.

His hours spent thinking had been a calculated move. Not only had he needed to confirm some facts pertaining to the suicides, he also needed Mycroft to see him stretched out, alone and unmoving for the majority of the day. The drug taking paraphernalia lying next to the sofa could be picked up by at least three of the surveillance cameras Mycroft had set up in the flat and Sherlock had made a great show of injecting himself at 10.35 am. The one thing Mycroft couldn’t see was that the contents of the syringe actually contained a cocktail of vitamins secured for him by Mike Stamford, not, as Mycroft would presume, morphine.

Sherlock hadn’t used drugs in over 3 months. He had a new craving now, one that had alarmingly filled his thoughts and even his body since he had first seen him, that night in Kings Cross Station. The sight of him had assaulted Sherlock in a way that he had never before experienced, it had been just a glimpse as the man had walked along the façade of shops and out of the main entrance into the dark street. Sherlock had been deep in conversation with Billy who had made his home in one of the arches outside the station. It had been cold and Sherlock had bought him coffee in exchange for information. The sound of the metal walking cane had brought their discussion to an abrupt close as it rang through the empty train station.

There had been something about the way the man walked, stiffly, straight backed despite the cane and with purpose. Sherlock had never seen him in this area before and, on a whim, decided to follow him. That night they walked together for the first time and Sherlock followed the man back to his door at a dismal house subdivided into bedsits.

He had immediately gone home and researched, wanting to know the man’s name. Bless the British Military and their obsessive record keeping and their surprisingly straightforward online security. It had taken him less than 40 minutes to hack into the Army’s personal records and start to refine his search. It had then taken him just 10 minutes to find a man recently discharged as injured having served time in Afghanistan and living in London. He had a name. Captain Dr. John Watson.

From that first night, Sherlock had regularly found himself watching the bedsit door, waiting to see would John go walking that night. When John did walk, Sherlock followed him, from a safe distance of course, this was a military man with PTSD. Sherlock had originally thought that maybe John’s journeys would bring him to meet someone, maybe he was working for one of Mycroft’s lot, but it soon became apparent that this was a man walking to escape himself, walking to wherever he could find signs of people enjoying their lives just so he could stand and watch them for a few moments.

Every time Sherlock followed John he thought of simply introducing himself, of orchestrating a fall, a trip and an apology and a hand shake. But he was too fascinated by simply watching the man, his face, the way he moved and the places he chose to visit.

After a month, Sherlock realised he had made an imperceptible shift in his thinking about John. He worried about him. He now followed John as he walked to keep him _safe_. This was ridiculous, he knew. John was perfectly well able to look after himself and yet, Sherlock couldn’t help it. John had begun to wander into seedier and more dangerous parts of the city, almost as if he was looking for someone, anyone, to threaten him.

Then Sherlock had been distracted. There was a case and he had spent two nights at home in Baker Street thinking. He had solved the case and as he sauntered out of NSY, his first thought had been of John, and if he was alright. He had gone to the bedsit that night but there were no lights on and John had not gone walking. Sherlock was concerned.

It was that night he began to hatch this plan of his. He knew he wasn’t good with other people. That he had nothing to offer this man who so plainly needed someone. He considered his options and decided that the best solution was to make John need him. How to do this has taken a long time for Sherlock to decide. The solution, when it came to him was glorious. Not only would it mean that this fascinating, compelling stranger would be thrown into his orbit, but he could have the joy of getting one up on Mycroft at that same time.

He set his plan in motion. If he had any concerns about the way he was manipulating those around him, they were short lived; this was all for a greater good – to save John. That John was a stranger to him or might not want saving never occurred to Sherlock. He couldn’t explain it but from the first time he had laid eyes on the limping, exhausted ex-soldier, he had felt compelled to be near him and _with_ him. Mike Stamford was first on his list. A quiet conversation to ascertain that Sherlock’s deduction that he and John Watson had trained together was correct, followed by an offer to put in a good word for Mike with the object of his affections, Molly, was all it took to secure the man’s involvement. That it would lead to him having a criminal record was never mentioned. An anonymous phone call to tip off a low-ranking and ambitious PC had led to Mike’s arrest sheet sitting in a pile just waiting for DI Lestrade to find it.

Next Sherlock set about his own campaign of making Mycroft worry about him. Phone calls from drug dens to come and rescue him, eating less and sleeping less. All the nights he spent trailing after John made him haggard and sick looking anyway. Then came the vitamin shots in front of Mycroft’s cameras. Of course, Sherlock couldn’t be sure if it was working, he just had to depend on Mycroft’s instinct to meddle in his life to kick in. The final part was to ensure that John Watson’s discharge record found its way into the monthly file of recommended security personnel to be considered by Mycroft. The right words and promises made to a very new Civil Servant secretary and the young man was more than happy to make sure the paperwork found itself in the necessary pile. Sentiment made people so easy to manipulate, Sherlock observed to himself. Such a weakness.

Mike had met him in the morgue at Bart’s last week to tell Sherlock it had worked and that he was to bring John Watson to meet him. Sherlock had allowed himself a small smile at having succeeded in bending Mycroft to his will, but much more he thrilled at finally meeting John and inviting him to be his flatmate. He had such a day of excitement planned for them and he was sure that then John would be his, unable to resist the excitement and danger he seemed to crave.

Sherlock decided to have an early night. He descended the stairs to Mrs. Hudson who was delighted by his request for a sandwich and hovered as he ate every bit of it. He retrieved the clean white shirt he had asked her to iron for him and went back to his room to check his favourite blue suit was still carefully hung up ready for the morning. As he settled in to sleep, all he could think of was John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had two different endings for this story, but couldn't resist love at first sight, high-functioning sociopath style.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please leave a comment. Thank you!


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